6. The Tunnel of Transmigration
Up the rainbow canyon, through the rancid green waters of the sparkling stream, mercenary's soul trudged. Temptress does and prancing goat spirits bedevilled mercenary. No night fell in the twilight world, no sun rose. The fumes of the oblate spirit meals burnt mercenary's nose. Subjective centuries passed. The fizzing waters rubbed mercenary smooth, washed away the accretions of experience, left the essence to stand before the tunnel. Dull, small, unappealing beneath the great copper cauldron of sacrifice.

Into that maw mercenary strode. The eye of light drew a bedraggled foul mannikin from the waters.